


vita inveniet te (a life to find you)

by holographiccatpun, ToxicLatteHottie (Aya_Chi007)



Category: The Guy Who Didn't Like Musicals - Team StarKid
Genre: BDSM Vibes, Donors, Dumbass Boys, F/M, Infidelity, M/M, Marking, More tags to be added, Online Dating, Pagan beliefs, Rating May Change, age gap (but not really vampires yakno), non apocalypse au, vampires au
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-29
Updated: 2019-09-20
Packaged: 2020-02-10 00:43:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,233
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18649453
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/holographiccatpun/pseuds/holographiccatpun, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aya_Chi007/pseuds/ToxicLatteHottie
Summary: Donation.What can it hurt, really? Ted had already lost his job. He didn’t really have the kind of money to be picky. Vampires were a fact of life and everybody had to eat. Why shouldn’t Ted get in on the action?





	1. Chapter 1

    Ted can’t believe what he’s hearing. Well, he can, but he didn’t think he’d be first. He thought it would have been Shelby from billing, who always came in almost twenty minutes late everyday. Or maybe Kyle from sales, who somehow always managed to miss two or three Fridays a month. Someone with a worse track record than him. Just not him.

 

    “I’m sorry, Ted.” Mr. Davidson really does look sorry. He’s fidgeting nervously with the wedding band on his finger. Ted knows he hates having this conversation as much as Ted hates hearing it. “But you have the most transfers from tech support, the most customer complaints, and the lowest numbers. You have for several quarters. At this point, I really can’t justify keeping you on any longer.”

 

    Ted can’t look at Mr. Davidson’s apologetic face any longer. His eyes drop to Mr. Davidson’s neck, right above his collar. He can see bruising, and something that looks like a puncture mark peeking above the edge of the collar. He shudders. “I understand,” he says quietly.

 

    Packing up his desk feels shameful. He can hear the whispers of people around him. He wonders if they’re as surprised as he is. Probably not.

 

    “Hey, Ted, I’m going to Bean- woah,” Paul Matthews, from statistics, freezes when he sees the sight in front of him. “What happened?”

 

    “Isn’t it obvious? I got fucking fired.” Ted doesn’t bothering watching his language. HR can’t touch him anymore. He heaves his box up in his arms and gives Paul a weak smile. “See you around.”

 

* * *

    It’s been two months and the job search has gone horribly. Ted’s savings account is slowly dwindling and unemployment wage isn’t enough to fill the gaps. He’s not going to have enough money to pay next month’s rent. He barely has enough to buy food.  _ Shit. _ He needs to earn some cash and _ fast _ .

 

    Ted grabs his laptop. As soon as it’s booted up, he opens Google.  _ Fast ways to earn money _ , he types before pressing enter. The usual options pop up: surveys, rebates, investing. Until he sees a word that simultaneously makes his stomach and send a chill up his spine:  _ Donation. _ His mind flashes back to Mr. Davidson, the mark on his neck. He knows Mr. Davidson isn’t a donor: he’s just married. Still…

 

    He clicks on a link to a random site, _favoriteflavor.com._ The site looks almost cutesy, decorated with an ice cream theme in different hues of red. There’s a section titled _Vampiric Persons Rights Act._ Underneath is a lot of legal jargon that Ted doesn’t understand. At the bottom of the blurb is a link to the different state guidelines on state donor laws and guidelines. Ted swallows as he clicks the link.  
  
    A new tab opens to _VPRA_. _gov_. Ted scrolls down the list of states until he finds his state. With a shaky hand, he clicks the heading. Underneath is one sentence: _Donors must provide consent after being informed  by the vampiric person(s) requesting services and be 18 years or older._ Okay, so Ted has no excuse not to do this. Trembling, he moves the cursor up to the _sign up_ button.

 

 _Name_. Okay, that easy enough. _Theodore Richards_ gets typed into the corresponding box. _Preferred Name: Ted. Email:_[ _urfaveteddy89@ymail.com_](mailto:urfaveteddy89@ymail.com) _._ Okay, he can do this. It's like filling out a job application. Easy enough. _Date of Birth: January 27, 1989. Height: 6'1. Body type._ Body type? Ted frowns glancing down. Not a total slob but obviously likes sugar? Oh there's a drop down selection. Athletic, average, heavy, lithe, skinny, obese. Ted blinks before clicking _average_. Close enough,  right? _Location: Hatchetfield, MA._ _Level of education: Bachelor's degree. Role desired?_ He clicks _donor._

 

    That's the end of the easy questions. _Place of Employment._ God. Shame crawls hot and uncomfortable up Ted's neck as he types _unemployed._ _Marital Status: Single._ God, he's pathetic, isn't he? Jobless and unmarried at thirty. _Kids: None. Zodiac Sign._ Zodiac sign? Do people seriously still care about zodiac signs? Sighing, he types in _Aquarius. Political Stance: Independent._ Does it really matter? He figures that's a safe answer. _Religion: Presbyterian._

 

_     Drinking.  _ Shit. He glances at the half empty bottle of whiskey sitting on the coffee table that had been helping him get to sleep the past few months.  _ Social. _

 

_     Smoking.  _ Jeez, how far back do they want him to go? He experimented some in college but hasn't since he started working.  _ None. _

 

_     Pets: None _

 

_     What do you want from your match? _ Oh, this is tricky. Does Ted need to be honest or does he need to downplay it so he doesn't scare off any potential… potential what? Buyers? Recipients? Vampires? Matches, that's what he's going with.  _ Housing and food.  _ Probably best to be honest.

 

_     Blood Type.  _ Shit, Ted doesn't  _ know _ . Who just knows their blood type off the top of their head? Groaning, he pushes himself off the couch and heads into his bedroom. Stacked on top of his dresser is every piece of mail he's received in the past year since he's lived here. Old credit card offers, junk mail, expired fast food coupons. Finally, he comes across an envelope from One Blood. A-ha. He tears it open, praying he's right.

 

   Inside is a donor identification card and a letter informing him his blood type was AB negative. Huh. Weird that you can go thirty years of your life and never know your blood type. Shaking his head, he goes back to the living room and inputs the newfound information .

 

_ Diet: mostly takeout and fast food. Willing to change if it presents an issue. _

 

_     Prior experience with donating?  _ Ted clicks the  _ no _ button.

 

_     Add a photo?  _ Does Ted even have any good pictures of himself? He doesn't think so. He picks up his phone, idly scrolling through his gallery. Oh, that one isn't terrible. He's sitting at a bar, wearing a nice shirt. He emails the picture to himself and downloads it to his computer so he can add it to his profile.

 

_ Personal bio: Hi, I'm Ted. I'm kind of in a rough spot right now so I thought I'd get into donating to continue to survive. I'm also willing to do household chores and that sort of thing if you let me move in _

 

    He takes a deep breath before hitting the  _ submit _ button.

 

    Now, he waits.

* * *

  
    “Thank you for inviting me over, Emma,” Henry says as his eyes examine the chess board. He has no classes to teach today, which he’s glad for. It’s been awhile since he’s had a proper drink and it’s beginning to take a toll on his energy.

 

    There’s no response. He looks up to see Emma is no longer sitting on the other side of the board from him. Before he can call for her, he hears her voice from the entryway. “Thank you for coming over. Now I have something I want you to do. For your own sake.” He turns to see Emma approaching the table with a laptop computer in her hands.

 

    “Gods no, Emma, not this again. I’ve told you, I’m fine,” Henry protests.

 

    “ _ Bullshit _ , Henry,” Emma responds, scowling as she sits next to him. Her dainty hands open the computer. “For decades, I’ve had to listen to you complain about not having a constant source to drink from, not having someone to fuck, not having anyone in that god forsaken panic room you call a home. If you’re not going to get a boyfriend, at least get a donor.” She turns the computer to face him. The screen shows scoops of ice cream in varying shades of red.  _ favoriteflavor.com _ . “Sign up.”

 

    Henry glares at her. “I already told you I don’t want to, Emma. It’s degrading.”

 

    Rolling her eyes, Emma turns the computer back toward her and Henry thinks that’s the end of it. They sit in silence, the only sound coming from Emma’s fingers typing rapidly on the keyboard.  _ Wait.  _ “What are you typing?” He leans over to look at the computer screen.

 

_ Name: Henry Hidgens _

_ E-mail:  _ [ _ hhidgens@hfu.edu _ ](mailto:hhidgens@hfu.edu)

_ Birthdate: old as fuck  _ **This answer is not valid**

_ Height: 6’2 _

_ Body type: Athletic _

_ Location: Hatchetfield, MA _

_ Level of Education: Masters degree _

_ Desired Role: Recipient _

 

    “Are you filling out an application  _ for me?” _ Henry demands. “You do realize that’s fraud.”

 

    Emma laughs, still typing away. “You do realize I don’t give a fuck, right? You’re either gonna fall out or just fucking die if you don’t find a sustainable blood source. If this is what it takes then I’ll do it.”

 

    Grumbling, Henry crosses his arms over his chest. “It was around 236 B.C.”

 

    “Thank you for your cooperation.” Emma smiles as she corrects the information before continuing. “Place of employment… Hatchetfield University.” She speaks slowly as she types. “Position… Professor of Biology. Marital status… Single. Kids…” She trails off, looking at Henry questioningly. “Do you have kids?”

 

    “Depends, do you count?” Henry leans back before Emma can smack him. “What, I’ve practically raised you since you were a fledgling. If I hadn’t found you, you’d probably be feral.”

 

    Emma pauses before nodding in agreement. “Yeah, that or dead. Kids… none. Zodiac sign… Do you even kno-”

 

    “Leo,” Henry answers, watching Emma type in his answer. “Next question, if you’re really making me do this.”

 

    “I get the feeling you’re starting to enjoy this,” Emma teases. “Okay, um next question: political stance?”

 

    That’s a tough one. Henry ponders that one for moment. “Apolitical… with liberal leanings.”

 

    That earns him a weird look but Emma types it into the answer box nonetheless. “Alright… religion?”

 

    “Hellenistic Pagan, I believe is what they’re calling it nowadays,” Henry tells her musingly. “You know, Olympianism, that sort of thing.”

 

    “I’m… not going to comment on that one,” Emma says, shaking her head. “Okay, what are you looking for in a match? Blood, obviously…” Her words become drawn out as she starts typing again. “Company, so you’re not so damn lonely all the time... possibly sex.”

 

    Henry curses, reaching for the laptop. “Don’t put that!”

 

    Emma pushes the laptop out of his reach. “Yes, I’m putting it! Might as well be honest that you’re open to the idea!” She scoots over so she’s closer to the computer before she starts reading again. “Are you willing to have a donor that smokes? Yes, no, or indifferent? Yes, you’re desperate, you can have standards later, once you get your strength back.” Henry scoffs, but doesn’t argue with her there. “Donor’s diet doesn’t matter. Favorite blood type?”

 

    Henry hums. It’s rare, but… “AB negative.”

 

    Emma lets out a low whistle in response, but checks the corresponding box. “Prior experience with receiving… none. Do you want to add a picture? Of course you want to add a picture! I have the perfect one…”

 

    “Why do you have pictures of me?” Henry demands. Emma doesn’t bother answer, instead focusing on scrolling through her files to the find picture she wants. When it pulls up on the screen, Henry does have to admit it is a nice picture. It’s Henry, sitting at a piano, obviously playing his heart out. He leans closer to see the next section. “Personal bio?”

 

    “Mhm,” Emma answers, sliding the computer back over to him. “Can I trust you to fill out this part yourself?”

 

    Henry smiles as he readies his hands over the keyboard. _ I’m Henry Hidgens. I’m looking for a sustainable source of blood and friendship.  _  He lets Emma read and approve before clicking submit.

 

    The very first suggested profile catches his eyes. It matches everything, including the blood type. He looks at the picture: dark hair, lighter complexion, a mustache. His eyes drift to the name.  _ Ted Richards. _

  
    “What are you waiting for?” Emma demands, leaning over his shoulder. “This guy is perfect.” Henry shrugs, about to keep scrolling. Before he gets the chance, Emma snatches the computer from him. “You’re useless,” she mutters as she clicks the  _ send message _ link. 


	2. Chapter 2

    Ted wakes up with the sun in his eyes and a bottle in his hand. Again. Unemployment suits him. He rolls over, trying to see the clock on his nightstand, and falls face-first onto his floor. Life sucks. 

 

    He drags himself up off the floor and towards the kitchen. He flings open the door to his refrigerator, praying to find something even marginally edible. Inside he finds nothing. Just as he’d left it.  _ Great!  _ Peanut butter it is.

 

    Peter Pan Crunchy Peanut Butter may be the only constant in Ted’s life at this point. He crosses to the cabinets, pulling the jar out with one hand and a fork out with the other. Ted flops into the chair at his kitchen table, flicking off the lid and slam dunking the fork into the sweet, chunky goodness. 

 

    Ted may or may not audibly groan as the peanut butter hits his tongue. His head lolls back against the chair as he sucks the fork clean, basking in the flavor and trying not to feel guilty about enjoying the fact that this is a common fixture in his life now. He chews the nuts slowly, savoring the crunch. He can almost pretend that he’s eating actual food. 

 

    The thought brings him back to reality. He’s not going to be able to even afford  _ this _ if he doesn't get a job soon. Ted looks warily at his laptop across the table. He’s been putting off looking at his account for so long, he might as well face the music. He’ll see he has no matches and then resort to selling his blood the old fashioned way.

 

    The laptop takes a good forty-five seconds to load and it feels like forty-five  _ years _ . Ted hears the sound of his chair scraping against the shitty linoleum and realizes he’s bouncing his leg. Hard. What the fuck? Why is he this jittery? The peanut butter must be going bad. That’s it. Yeah.

 

    A few short decades later, the screen comes on, the brightness only slightly blinding this early in the day. Ted stabs in his password, drumming his fingers against the table as the fans whir to life. Neither of them wants to be doing this right now. 

 

    Opening up his browser is easy enough, it reloads the tabs he had when the laptop shut down a few nights before. He really shouldn’t be so surprised that the thing’s dying. Ted takes worse care of it than he does himself, and that’s saying something. 

 

    Once the fans’ violent churring returns to a soft stuttering hum and the virus pop-ups stop flashing, Ted sets to closing tabs. All too quickly, though, there are no more tabs and there’s nothing else he can do to distract himself from dragging his cursor over to the Favorite Flavor tab and clicking the hot pink  _ LOG IN!  _ button. 

 

    Instantly, there are a thousand pop-ups fighting for his attention. God damn. Ted just kind of watches as the screen flickers, waiting for smoke to start pouring out of the vents. Burning his apartment down would be pretty par for the course today. 

 

    By the grace of god and the power of Grayskull, nothing catches fire. That’s good. He doesn’t have enough money to buy peanut butter he sure as hell can’t refurnish this apartment. The flashing stops and Ted rubs his eyes before looking at the screen again. Why the fuck did they go with that for notifications? Jesus. 

 

    In the upper corner of his screen, there’s still some flashing. The design choices of this website are becoming more and more questionable, but Ted drags the cursor up to the little ice cream cone icon anyway. He was tech support, not graphic design.

 

    Clicking the cone makes it stop flashing, at least. The screen changes from various profiles to his inbox. His  _ loaded _ inbox.  There are at  _ least  _ two hundred vampires here, which means at least one of them isn’t a scam. Fuck. Shit. God damn it. Ted needs a drink. 

 

    Bottle in hand, Ted opens the most recent message.

 

_     Hey, hot stuff, do you taste as good as you look? _

 

    Oh. Does he? If he was talking to a human he could answer, but she’s asking about his blood and Ted’s never spent the time to actually evaluate how that tastes. Does he look like he would taste coppery? Is that a desirable taste? Does he care? Ted clicks the icon, skimming the person’s bio. She wants casual hookups with some blood on the side. He does not care.

 

    He closes that conversation and moves onto the next one. The entire message is a single  _ Hey _ . What is he supposed to do with that? Maybe Ted isn’t really in the place to be picky but  _ come on.  _ He deletes all the one-word messages on sight. Whiskey makes him bold. 

 

    That cuts his inbox in half, but he doesn’t really have to worry about that. He still has twice the population of his high school trying to get a sip, he can be picky. Knowing his luck he’ll end up picking the only axe murderer on the island, but he doesn’t need a place to live if he’s dead. 

 

    Since he took this long to respond to messages, more than a few people have offered that. Ted isn’t entirely sure how he’s supposed to feel when someone calls him a spoiled blood bag, but it  _ sounds _ like an insult, so most of those get deleted. Some of them are just too funny to get rid of. 

 

    Twenty minutes after he starts Ted realizes that taking a shot for every unsolicited body part photo was a bad idea. There’s a surprisingly low number of dicks, which is oddly comforting. The majority of them are fangs. Ted did not realize he could think teeth looked sexy, but he is well past the point of caring. He’s also past having dignity and he responds to  _ several _ asking for more. 

 

    Maybe being bitten won’t be too bad. Fangs are like really thin walrus tusks, like snake fangs but in a person’s face. He might not even feel it. It’ll be like someone trying way too hard to give a hickey. Can Vampires get bruises? He might want to reciprocate. 

 

    Ted’s eyes flick to the clock in the corner of the screen and he realizes just how pathetic he is. Half hungover at three in the afternoon scrolling through messages on a hookup site for thirsty vampires and  _ actually considering them _ . He hit rock bottom and he pulled out a shovel. 

 

    That’s when he spies the bottom of his inbox. This one’s not entirely made of eggplant emojis, so that’s a start. He clicks the box, opening the conversation with  _ Henry Hidgens. _

 

_     Hi, I’m Henry!  _

_     I’m looking for a long term donor and you seem to be just my type. Σ: _

 

    Fuck. That’s kind of cute. 

 

    Kind of.

 

    Ted clicks on Henry’s profile and,  _ holy shit _ , this dude’s hot. His photo shows him at a piano in a turtleneck and Ted’s pretty sure turtle necks went out of style when he was in middle school but Henry  _ rocks _ it. Fuck. Shit. God damn it. 

 

    Before he can second guess himself, Ted types out a response and hits send.

* * *

  


    Henry’s phone chirps on his desk and he audibly groans. He doesn’t want distractions right now, he needs to finish his lesson plans. The school year starts up in a few weeks and he is  _ beyond  _ unprepared. It’s probably just some telemarketing scheme or another spam email. He’s never even been to an IKEA, he has no idea how they got his email address.  

 

    The buzzing stops and Henry is still staring cross his desk. He needs to work. This needs to be done. The deadline is in less than two weeks. Henry cannot afford distractions. 

 

    Henry groans again, this time louder, and grabs his phone. The FavoriteFlavor app icon is there along with a notification telling him he got a message. Great. He stabs in his password and waits for the app to load. 

 

    Emma was really overreacting when she made him get this account. He doesn’t need this. He has the blood bag program and two working hands. He can take care of himself. Henry is a strong, independent vampire that does not need a donor. 

 

    He hums softly, spinning his chair a little as he waits for his inbox to load. It’s probably just another message saying he should use his account and match with more than one person. Or maybe it’s another spam account trying to get pictures of his fangs. The thought makes him huff a laugh, but the sound quickly tapers into a squeak when he sees the message.

 

_     Hey, Hen! I’m Ted. You’re pretty cute, let’s chat! UwU _

 

    Ted thinks he’s cute? 

 

    Ted thinks he’s cute. 

 

    Henry is going to die  _ again.  _ Gods. He hasn’t had a heartbeat in millennia but his chest is doing a  _ thing _ . He drops his phone back onto the desk and buries his face in his hands.  _ Cute.  _ How is he supposed to respond to that? He’s one of the oldest people on the face of this planet and Ted Richards thinks he is  _ cute _ . 

 

    Henry lets himself scream internally for another few seconds before straightening. He can do this. He can have a professional relationship with a blood donor. They can even be friends. He’s not going to fuck this, or Ted, up. He is  _ not.  _ Henry is a functional adult, he can have a platonic conversation with a handsome man on the internet. 

 

_     Thank you for responding! How are you? _

 

    Thank you for responding? That sounds like something he would send one of his coworkers, not someone he’s hoping to become friends with. Henry is respectful and he doesn’t want to seem forward, Henry Hidgens is anything but forward, but this isn’t a business transaction. 

 

_     What’s up, Teddy? _

 

    Teddy? Who does Henry think he is? That’s way too forward. He needs to be respectful. Ted is Ted. This is hard. Fuck. 

 

_     Howdy. _

 

    No. Just no. 

 

_     Salutations. _

 

    Is it too late to call Emma? Her opener was good. Ted even sent an emoticon back. Maybe he should send her a text. She can do this. Emma can do people. But if Henry asks for her help she will  _ never  _ let him live it down. 

 

_     Good afternoon! How are you? _

 

    Henry is going to die. This is it. He’s going to die and it is going to be by his own stupid, useless hands. What is he even supposed to say? How does he articulate his emotions without being verbose and scaring Ted off? 

 

_     I have been staring at your message for at least fifteen minutes and I have no idea how to respond, but chatting does sound nice. How are you? _

 

    Fuck it. That will have to do. Henry hits send and puts his phone back down on his desk. He still has a deadline. He needs to work.


	3. Chapter 3

Ted grins as he picks up his phone. His smile only grows wider as it sees the message is from Henry. It’s been almost three weeks since they first communicated. Ted doesn’t bother going on the site anymore. There’s no reason to. He and Henry are getting along  _ amazingly _ . Henry hasn’t even sent him any dick or fang pics.

 

From: Henry the Vampire   
Hello, Ted, how are you today?   
  
_ Oh, you know. Slowly packing my apartment in hopes that you’re finally going to ask me to move in _ , Ted thinks wistfully. It’s the truth. Boxes, empty, packed, and somewhere in between are all over his apartment.

 

To: Henry the Vampire   
Packing. My lease is going to be up at the end of the month and I can’t renew my contract

 

That’s also the truth though. He hasn’t found a job, putting all of his energy into getting to know Henry. Henry’s made it clear he only wants a platonic relationship. That’s fine, that’s more than okay. Henry’s nice, respectful, and he loves Jeff Goldblum as much as Ted does. Ted’s phone chirps with another notification.   
  
From: Henry the Vampire   
It may be moving a little too quickly, but would you like to move in? I have plenty of spare rooms

 

Oh. Oh yes. Oh  _ fuck _ yes. Ted’s been waiting on that question. He’s been waiting two weeks for Henry to finally ask. He can’t come off as too eager though. Henry always seems so composed. He needs to match that energy.   
  
To: Henry the Vampire   
If it’s no trouble. I can come visit beforehand?

 

Henry doesn’t need to breathe, but he takes a deep breath anyway. A visit is a good idea. They can set boundaries and rules. Met to make sure they’re actually a good match before agreeing to live together.  _ Gods _ , the only person to come to his home in hundreds of years has been Emma. He might need to tidy up a bit.

 

To: Ted Richards

That sounds like a great idea. I don’t have class tomorrow, do you want to come over then?

 

From: Ted Richards

Absolutely! Say about one tomorrow afternoon?

 

Henry sends back a confirmation before setting his phone aside. He basks in the elation at the prospect of actually getting to  _ meet Ted _ . He’s going to have a donor, a roommate, someone to make the fortress not seem so lonely. A  _ friend _ , even. He glances around the living room before swearing softly.

 

He needs to clean.  _ Shit _ . That’s definitely going on Ted’s list of chores.

* * *

Ted whistles lowly as he approaches the gate. His car sputters to a stop beside the intercom buzzer. This place is fuckin’  _ huge _ . He glances down at his button up and jeans and wonders if it’s too late to run away. He winds the crank on the door, lowering the window so he can press the button.   
  
The speaker crackles before a smooth voice comes through. “ _ Hello _ ?”

 

“Henry? It’s Ted. Ted Richards. Theodore Richards. Blood type AB negative.” Ted’s rambling, he knows, but he wants to make perfectly clear who he is. He doesn’t know what kind of security features this fence has.

 

“ _ Ted! _ ” The voice sounds excited. That’s a good sign at least. “ _ Hold on, I’ll open the gates. I’ll see you at the door. _ ”

 

The gates creak as they slowly open, allowing Ted to continue driving up the winding path. As he approaches the actual house, though  _ mansion _ is a better term, he spies a figure lounging in the shade the upstairs balcony casts over the front steps.

 

His car jerks when he shifts into park. Ted winces. His car is a piece of shit, he knows, but it gets him where he needs to go. He steps out of his car, shielding his eyes from the sun. He moves into the shade, trying to blink the spots out of his vision. When they clear, he sees  _ him _ .

 

Oh dear sweet baby  _ Jesus _ . He’s  _ stunning _ . Skin as pale and smooth as porcelain, eyes that shine like sapphires, hair that looks like pure silver spun into the finest thread. When did Ted become a teenager writing fanfiction? He can’t help it though. It’s the only way to  _ truly _ describe how beautiful this man is. Even if he is wearing a black turtleneck tucked into khakis.

 

“Hello, Theodore.” He smiles and holy  _ shit _ those fangs. “I’m Henry Hidgens. Welcome to my home.”

 

Yeah, that settles it. Once Ted moves in, he’s never leaving. “Hey, Henry,” he manages to get out without squeaking. He reaches out to shake Henry’s hand, shivering at the chill. Once they release hands, Henry leads the way into the foyer.

 

It’s  _ grand  _ for sure. An ornately carved dark wood staircase winds down from the next floor up. The floors are glossy from the marble tiles.  The walls are decorated with antique portraits, some of which appear to have Henry himself in them.

 

Ted follows Henry around the house, barely listening to him speak. He should, he has a very nice, almost  _ melodic _ voice. But Ted’s too caught up on the way Henry  _ moves _ . It’s almost like he glides, as graceful as a dancer. He looks over his shoulder to smile at Ted again and Ted feels  _ weak _ .

 

Henry realizes Ted’s not listening by the time they’re halfway through touring the second floor. He keeps his composure, giving Ted chances to tune back in. He never does.

 

As they walk back into the foyer, Henry starts speaking. “So, I have a few rules if this is going to work.” Ted gives a grunt of agreement. Henry ignores the twinge of annoyance. “So, number one, don’t go into my room. I’ll respect your privacy and expect you to respect mine.”

 

“Uh huh,” Ted mumbles, obviously distracted by  _ something _ . 

 

“Rule number two,” Henry continues, his jaw starting to clench. “Take care of yourself. Rule three, I’ll leave chores for you to do each day: some light cleaning, a little yard work, those sorts of things. Nothing too tedious or strenuous.” No response. Henry counts to ten in his head. “Rule four, don’t go in my lab, for safety and liability issues. Last but not least, rule five, no feet on the furniture.

 

They’re back in the foyer. Henry turns to look at Ted. “Yeah, sounds great,” Ted answers.

 

“Really? Tell me one of the rules I said,” Henry requests, crossing his arms over his chest.

 

Ted freezes, eyes wide. Shit. Was it that obvious that he wasn’t listening? “Um… label everything that goes in the fridge?” he guesses.

 

Henry sighs, loud and exasperated. “If I can’t trust you to listen, how can I trust you to do anything else?” He asks coolly, taking a step toward Ted.

 

“I was-” Ted stumbles in an attempt to put space between himself and Henry again. His back ends up hitting the wall.

 

“What were you so  _ entranced _ by, Theodore?” Henry asks. “Was it the decor? The  _ size _ ?” He smiles, smirking when Ted’s eyes drop to his fangs on instinct. “ _ Oh _ , I  _ see _ ,” he says softly. “Maybe I wasted my time. Maybe you’re just like all the other humans on that site.” As he speaks, his hand comes up to wrap around Ted’s throat, pressing him back against the wall.

 

“N-No!” Why is this so hot? Henry could kill him if he wanted to. Snap his neck or drain him dry. The thought sends a thrill up his spine. “I’m not.”

 

Henry presses a little harder, leaning in closer. “Then fucking prove it,” he growls. He steps back, releasing Ted as he does so. Ted slumps to the floor, gasping for breath. “So when would you like to move in?”

 

It takes a few moments for Ted to get his breath back. Part of his brain is screaming that this is a bad idea, that he could  _ die _ if he moves in. Strangely, that doesn’t phase him. He looks up at Henry, blinking slowly. “As soon as my lease is up.”


	4. Chapter 4

The next two weeks feel like centuries.

 

Ted still texts him, though, and he has his classes, but for the first time in decades, Henry feels  _ thirsty _ . 

 

He typically drinks maybe a half bag a month and he knows he shouldn’t suddenly start overindulging, but it’s been so many years since he had something  _ fresh.  _ The thought of sinking his fangs into something other than the lukewarm plastic of a blood bag sends an indescribable sort of thrill through him and it’s all he can do to keep from draining a bag every evening. 

 

Well, the feeling isn’t  _ that _ indescribable. There are quite a few words to describe Henry’s feelings on the matter, but he is a changed man. He can do platonic. He can evolve. This isn’t like before, he doesn’t have to use his body to feed himself. This is a new, modern world and Henry can be a new, modern vampire. The only part of him that’s going inside Ted are his fangs. 

 

Even with his sudden development of morals, however, it’s still hard to keep his mind on any one thing. Henry usually has a laser focus on any task, as most of his kind do, but nothing can seem to hold his attention anymore. He had wanted to work on something, on anything, being productive is an important part of living for eternity, but he simply can not. 

 

On his desk, there’s a stack of papers that he should have finished grading last week, on top of an artfully calligraphed list of the rules that he started working on right after Ted left and that he hasn’t touched since. Henry could add the last three words to the list of rules, he  _ should _ do some grading, but instead he’s sitting in his office chair with his fangs in a full blood bag, lazily spinning from side to side as he plays one of the mobile phone games Emma put on his phone that he can not, for the life of him, figure out how to delete. 

  
  


From: Ted Richards

Hey! Just finished everything. Be on the road in five, see you in under an hour!

  
  


Henry’s eyes go wide and suddenly the bag is empty. 

  
  


In no time at all, the intercom system squeaks to life. Henry hears it from where he’s frantically cleaning Ted’s new room and freezes.

 

“ _ Henry?”  _ Ted’s voice crackles through the speaker in the foyer, “ _ It’s Ted. I’m here.” _

 

Henry doesn’t realize he’s started moving until he’s at the front door, skidding to a stop in front of the intercom and pressing the call button. “Ted?”

 

_ “Yeah, Ted?” _ His voice wavers a little and Henry internally kicks himself. He needs to get the system updated. “ _ Ted Richards? I texted you an hour ago?” _

 

“Oh, that Ted,” He does not know any other Teds.

 

“ _ Yeah, that Ted.”  _ A few seconds pass before he speaks again, “ _ Uh, can I come in? _ ” 

 

Fuck. “Isn’t that my line?” Henry fumbles with the control panel as Ted gives an awkward chuckle. He can hear the gates opening through the com and steps back when he hears Ted’s engine start up again.

 

Ted is here. Ted is going to be staying in his home. They are going to be housemates. Henry needs to impress him.

 

They already met weeks ago, but that means nothing. That tour had been cursory at best, Ted was barely in the house for a few hours. Even if it had been more than a few fleeting moments, that was so long ago. Ted might have forgotten by now.

 

The knock on his front door pulls Henry out of his head and back into reality. He straightens his hair a final time and mutters a quick prayer before opening the door. 

 

“Hey, Henry.”

 

There’s Ted. Tall, handsome, aesthetically pleasing Ted. His hair is gelled today, perfectly quaffed in a way that makes Henry feel totally platonic feelings. The grin on his face, however, does  _ not _ make him feel platonic feelings. Very non-platonic, entirely unprofessional things to do with that grin and Henry’s own.

 

Fuck, he needs to look away. He needs to avert his eyes and maintain some semblance of dignity. His eyes drift down. Down is good. Henry only gets to Ted’s neck before he sees them, though. 

 

Bruises. 

 

Thick, purple bruises wrapped around Ted’s throat in the shape of a hand.

 

Henry’s hand. 

 

Oh Gods. He can feel blood rising up his throat. He choked Ted so hard he left  _ bruises _ . He could have killed him.

 

Why is he even here? Doesn’t he know that this is dangerous? Those bruises aren’t enough to keep him away? Does Ted not understand the kind of  _ peril _ he’s putting himself in? 

 

The terror Henry feels welling up in his chest is only worsened by Ted’s big, lopsided grin. It’s bright and beautiful and falling fast as Henry works through his inner turmoil in front of him. Gods, Henry shudders, this is disgusting. 

 

Stepping back from the door, he makes the same sweeping gesture he makes every time, “Come in.”

 

Like a fool, Ted comes in. 

 

The heavy oak door closes behind him, the sound echoing off the marble tile in a way that sounds too much like a judge’s gavel. It feels final, like Henry has just signed Ted’s life away, and they both flinch. Is he really this person now? 

 

“It really is a lovely home, Hen,” Ted says once they exchange awkwardly apologetic smiles. Henry nods, heading down a hallway without a second glance toward Ted. The sound of footsteps gains on him eventually, which means he’s figured out Henry wasn’t going to respond. 

 

That doesn’t stop the chatter though. Ted makes small remarks about everything he sees, all polite and courteous like a properly trained young man-

 

The instant that thought crosses Henry’s mind he pauses, stock still in front of an open door. Ted fumbles, trying not to crash into him or one of the larger paintings in the hall. 

 

“Your room.” Henry doesn’t explain further. He doesn’t trust his voice not to betray him with anything more. Ted nods and then Henry continues on, two doors down to his own bedroom. 

 

He gives one last glance to Ted, standing in the hall with bags slung over his shoulders, watching Henry watch him with a mix of confusion and something Henry can’t quite place, before closing the door and making sure it locks. 

 

What has he  _ done _ ?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi I’m Jack, and I’m as bad with managing my time as I am gay.

**Author's Note:**

> Hi, we're Ash (ToxicLatteHottie) and Jack (holographiccatpun) and we're Tedgens trash. We hope you enjoy our fic as it grows and develops and hopefully breaks your heart at some point


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